


A Hunt for Ashes

by GohanRoxas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, Monsters, Original Character(s), Prophetic Visions, Realm Hopping, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GohanRoxas/pseuds/GohanRoxas
Summary: [Witcher x DA] Ciri's visions have returned, and they herald a bleak future...but from a world not their own. Another place, another time? Magic takes them to a new world, plagued by familiar monsters, and a threat manipulating them all. Perhaps this...Inquisition could hire a Witcher or two?





	A Hunt for Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from other than me trying to balance playing Witcher 3 and DA Inquisition at the same time (stupid, I know). But hey, why not? Let's combine epic fantasy franchises together!

She hadn’t had a nightmare since Eredin fell and the White Frost had been repelled. She’d chosen to train on her own to continue the teachings of the Witchers, Geralt and Triss had found a home, Yennefer remained an omnipotent ally in the service of Nilfgaard… Literally the only “bad news” that had come in some time was that the dalliance between Lambert and Keira Metz was short-lived.

But then the nightmares began again. Different. Weaker, but still painful. A new pain.

_ She saw all manner of monsters spreading across barren fields, snowy mountains, burning villages. Drowners, rotfiends, wraiths, creatures of all walks. A village coated in a black miasma, an airborne sickness brought on by a fiend in torn fabrics of a dirty white. _

_ A torn banner, depicting a sun, an all-seeing eye and a mighty blade, lying fallen and forgotten. _

_ And a shadow. A looming, monstrous shadow with a single glowing green eye. Words that shook her very soul. _

**_You cannot save them. They are out of your reach, like no others can be. I will not be challenged, by you or the Huntslayer. This realm...shall be mine and mine alone!_ **

She awoke in a cold sweat, her green eyes wild, pale hair tossed asunder. She had to do something.

* * *

Ciri’s summons was quick and unexpected. Meet in Vizima, be armed and ready, and bring Triss with you. The messenger had looked harried, like he had been on a long journey in a short time, at a rather strong insistence. It wasn’t hard to work out that this was important. He managed to gather enough Novigrad crowns to buy Triss a new horse and himself a new Roach, and they rode to the former Temerian capital, now a glorified embassy to Nilfgaard.

Eventually they reached the palace, and the guards led them both to a familiar room. He knew this place well. The same room that Yennefer made her base when Emhyr var Emreis had her helm the search for Ciri all those years ago. Somewhat appropriate, but still a ghastly memory.

Clearly this thought registered on his weathered face, because his lover was immediately holding his gloved hand. “You’ve got that scowl on your face again, Geralt?”

“I know,” he muttered. “I’m just remembering the last time I was here.”

“When Emhyr gave you the contract to find Ciri?” Triss clearly remembered the details well, be it from Geralt himself or the epic Dandelion was no doubt still drafting as they spoke.

Geralt nodded. “Still can’t believed I actually bowed to the guy.”

She chucked. “Neither do I.”

“I rather found it surprising myself, when I heard of it.” That was a familiar voice. Musical, yet snappy. The smell of lilac and gooseberries filled his nostrils and memories came back. Memories still magically enhanced, despite the spell she had over him being long since broken. Dark clothes, raven hair, violet eyes. Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Beside her stood another face from his past. From his shared past with Triss and Yen, even. Keira Metz. The last time they truly spoke, other than the day before the Siege of Kaer Morhen, was the morning after she seduced him, charmed him in a literal and figurative sense, and tried to buy her way into the court of a mad, magic-hating King. She didn’t wear the glorified rags from that day, but instead a fine blue shirt, design-wise quite like the one she wore while acting as a witch in Velen, open at the chest, and men’s trousers that seemed to be of a strong silk-like fabric. Yen, too, wore black trousers. Dressed for action of some kind.

“Two of you?” Geralt muttered, half a smile on his face. “Who did I piss off to deserve this?”

“If anyone, me.” Yet another familiar voice, one much closer to her than almost any other. Its owner was garbed in the same clothing she had been given by the Bloody Baron: black cotton and red velvet shirt sewn with chain mail, a chain pauldron on her shoulder, armoured belt and black leather trousers, her namesake steel blade on her back. Her green eyes blazed with an almost ethereal determination. Ciri.

She moved wordlessly, grabbing Geralt and holding him tightly, like a daughter to her father. Geralt hesitated for mere moments before responding, a loose hug of his own around the one who was like a child to him. “What was so urgent? And why do you need two witchers and three sorceresses?”

“I had dreams,” she responded, brushing pale hair out of her eyes. “Dreams like the ones I used to have of the Wild Hunt. Ones influenced by my elven blood.”

Viperous eyes immediately became serious. “What kind of dreams?”

“Prophetic. They show another...another land, another place, I don’t know...beset by monsters and some...dark lord of some kind…”

“How do you know it’s another land?”

“I saw a banner. Something I’d never seen before, and Yen assures me that it’s definitely not from any kingdom in our realm.”

Yennefer nodded and waved her hands, sending an ethereal green flame into the air. A blade, stabbing through a sun that contained an eye. “This is something different, and I can find nothing of it anywhere. It must be someplace else we know nothing of.”

Ciri turned back to her chosen father. “I told her about how worried I was about this, and she told me something. That if it worried me that much, we could...channel my dreams and open a portal to this place. But I’d need three potent magic users. Yen counted for one, and she suggested Keira…”

The blonde rolled her eyes slightly. “I’m absolutely flattered, but I’m not a world-saver. Just because I helped kill members of the Hunt…”

She was ignored. “I wanted you to come with me anyway, and I knew I needed Triss. Two drowners with a single strike.”

Geralt crossed his arms. “I’m retired, and getting too old for this shit. I was hoping to just have to do the occasional contract, play some gwent and live out my days.”

Ciri laughed. “You should know better than that by now. The world always needs the White Wolf of Rivia.”

“More than one world, apparently.”

* * *

The War Council was very different from when it began in Haven. Though most of the members were the same, the feeling was still very different. She surrounded herself with the same trustworthy people: Cassandra, Josephine and Cullen, plus the addition of an old friend of the new Divine...but this was something different. They hadn’t faced a threat like this since Corypheus, and this was most definitely unique. “Any news, Commander?”

“The same, Inquisitor,” Cullen sighed, habitually clutching the hilt of his sword. “The village to the north of the Rotten Vale is still succumbing to this disease, Kirkwall is still plagued by these shade-like creatures, Teyrn Cousland is struggling with this...odd wyvern on the outskirts of Highever, and an odd fog has arisen on some of the battlefields in Orlais.”

Josephine still held her writing board, lit by her red wax candle, and still clutching her quill. “This is a rather interesting situation, Inquisitor. Despite the various kingdoms requesting we tone down our involvement in their affairs, we’ve received requests for assistance directly from King Bhelen, Empress Celene and Queen Anora.”

“Anora specifically?”

A hooded figure nearby crossed their feet on the map table. “King Alistair is visiting Fergus in Highever, ironically.” The voice was light but masculine, with an Antivan accent and lilt. “It means he has to put on armour for the first time since the Blight.”

The light Orlesian accent of Cassandra broke through at this point. “This is a very different threat than Corypheus and the Breach. No-one we have spoken to has any idea where it come from.”

Another voice, laced with sarcasm and wit, came from behind them. “And you know that not a single person knows a damn thing about this when even the Imperium is baffled.”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Dorian! When did you get back here?”

“Obviously I never left. Like Solas before me, I’m an omnipotent god-like being that can come and go as I please,” the Tevinter mage chuckled, giving the Inquisitor a friendly hug. “But in all seriousness, no-one I’ve spoken to knows anything about it. It’s like these many...phenomena are from another place entirely, and I don’t mean the Fade.”

The Inquisitor was about to speak when a spy burst into the room and knelt, breathless. “Inquisitor! Lady Cassandra, Commander! We’re under an assault!”

Blades immediately came to hands, but the Inquisitor held hers up and stopped them. “From who?”

“I dunno, My Lady. It’s a small group, three mages we don’t know of and two people who are armed with swords.”

A tilted head from the Herald of Andraste. “Five people are...assaulting our gate?”

“One of the sword-wielders, a man, has already wounded ten of our guards, My Lady.”

Her brow furrowed. “This I must see.”

* * *

Geralt held his steel sword in front of him, pacing as the thinly-armoured soldiers brandished their blades. Trained and skilled, but not on par with the most adept in his world. He still felt woozy from the teleportation - damn portals - but even in this state, he far outclassed them.

The women were looking at him, completely bemused. Ciri had a grin on her face, Triss a hopeless smile, while Keira and Yen both looked annoyed.

He was about to launch another strike, still meant to wound and not kill, when he felt a sudden, chill touch. His body seemed to become encased in thin icicles, but they held him in place like no magic he’d ever felt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the women immediately prepare; Ciri held her blade like she’d been taught by Vesemir, the sorceresses’ hands blazed with power.

His attention shifted to another figure, standing in front of him. One hand was outstretched, small crystals of ice on the fingertips; the other clutched a sword made from pure magical energy. A sorceress? No. This was something different.

“My name is Sharena Trevelyan of the Inquisition. Who are you, and why are you attacking my men?”


End file.
